


The Pact

by DragonGirl420



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, F/M, Gothic Au, spn au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-06 10:05:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17343314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonGirl420/pseuds/DragonGirl420
Summary: Lord Samuel Winchester has lost the love of his life due to the actions of the Demon King, Crowley. As he plots a secret revenge, his father, the King of Lawrence, decrees that Sam will wed Crowley’s daughter in order to unite the two families to protect the sacred ground the Winchester’s Kingdom is built upon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was a long time coming. My first true AU, so please be gentle. This will be a slow burn, multi-chapter fic. A HUGE thank you to one of my besties @kazosa for continuing to remind me of this idea we had been planning for a long time now and for suggesting I finally start it. Hope you enjoy!!

The caretaker shoveled the last bit of dirt on her grave. It wasn’t until Samuel heard the last grain drop, did his wounded hip finally give out and he fell to his knees. Silent tears punished his cheeks with a relentless assault of grief for his lost love. There was no stone for her yet, the mason promised it would be complete in a matter of days. Until then, the Winchester Prince laid a garland of her favorite wildflowers atop the mound of damp, dark soil that marked her final resting place.

All the mourners had since left, for which he was eternally grateful. He needed time alone, to say goodbye to Jessica. Sam wanted to remember how soft her blonde curls felt, like locks of silk as they trailed between his fingers; how blue her eyes could be, and just how her smile had become the sun in his sky.

From above, a clap of thunder shook the ground and warned of the storm’s arrival that had been threatening all day. Samuel Winchester did not care. He refused to leave until he remembered every bit of her—her melodious voice, the way she laughed, but mostly, the way she kissed him. No one would ever be able to kiss him the way Jessica had. She was an angel that walked the Earth, and for a short time, he was blessed enough to love her.

Until Crowley took her away for good.

Now, he’d never see her face again. Never touch her or smell her skin. He would be alone for eternity, until he took his last breath and could be reunited with her in the afterlife. No one could ever capture his heart again; for now, it was just as black as the eyes of the demon who took her life.

A guttural scream wanted to burst from his mouth, but from the depths of his soul he found the restraint to shove it back down.

“Save it,” he mumbled to himself, “you’re going to need it.”

As the rain started to fall, Sam used his cane that lay beside him to boost himself back up to his feet. He closed his eyes, turned his face up to the clouds and let their showers cleanse him of the dirt and despair that had enveloped him. When he looked back down at the wildflowers, his long hair hung wet around his face. He closed his eyes and the last, happy image, he held of Jessica lingered behind them.

The corner of Sam’s mouth twitched into a smile. His cheek dimpled, something she loved so much about him.

“For you, my love,” he whispered. “One last smile for you. I am going to leave you at peace. I have things to do and when they’re done, if I’m lucky enough, I will get to see you in Heaven. Then we will never be separated again.”

His voice cracked, and he stifled the tears that once again threated to fall. Leaving his despair, along with the wildflowers, he turned and hobbled his way back towards his father’s estate. Sam had many plans to make and no time to spare in making them.

* * *

 

The MacLeod Castle sat high above the jagged cliffs and raging sea. It was a fitting place for a ruler such as Crowley and his dark reputation. No one could ever really recount as to when he came to power, it was a debate that raged in all the local taverns for many years, and still there was never a definitive answer.

Crowley always just, was. He was a presence that the people in the Kingdom of Lawrence just accepted, for fear of what repercussions would come if they didn’t. It was more rumor and inuendoes about the horrors that took place in his dungeons, but it was always a story told by word of mouth, never a real, first-hand account. That didn’t stop the mysterious figure from playing the type. Crowley reveled in the way people moved aside when he came down into town, and even bowed their heads slightly in respect. Ask them, ‘respect for what?’, and none would be able to answer. They just knew that it was how you behaved when the Red King graced the streets of Lawrence.

Just on the other side of the river, lands were ruled by the Winchesters, and their long line of peacekeepers. King Henry had been beloved for the wisdom and protection he offered those living under his rule, and when he died, the throne was taken by his only son, John, at a very young age. John Winchester was a different kind of King all together. He ran the lands and governed the people with a bit of an iron fist. Keeping the peace and defending the sacred lands they farmed was, in his eyes, of utmost importance. When his wife bore him two sons, he tried to raise them in his own image and mindset. Defenders of the land before anything else; even themselves.

The first time the Winchesters had a confrontation with Crowley and the demons known as the ‘Minions of MacLeod’, the Winchesters were able to stave them off. For a good chunk of years, Crowley had made it his mission to take the fertile lands, piece by piece. But the Winchesters, for all their superior weaponry and intelligence, were able to fend them off every time. Eventually, Crowley grew tired of losing and a tentative peace fell between the two kingdoms.

The people of Lawrence feared that one day, Crowley and his Minions would once again storm the gates of the Winchester’s Castle. If that happened, the defenders would have to burn the lands to the ground to purify them of Crowley’s plague, subsequently destroying what made them so valuable in the first place. The magic that lived in the lands was highly coveted, this was no secret. The secret was in how to obtain them, and people feared when Crowley figured that out, the War to end all Wars would come and wipe them all out.

* * *

 

Growing up in this place had been different, but for the most part, your life was fine. The castle your father settled into when you were younger had been your playground; his minions, your playthings. Learning to work with herbs and forest elementals, you were able to keep yourself amused by concocting a variety of potions and spells that would be tested on the people Crowley kept in service. Nothing painful or devastating by any means but adding a love potion to the soup at dinner made for an entertaining and educational evening.

Crowley was hardly ever around. Your father made sure, however, that you were watched over and the figurative leash around your neck was short. Teachers and craftsmen were brought into to teach you what Crowley deemed important for you to know, and when he discovered your penchant for spells, he summoned his own mother to come and teach you the ways of her craft.

A centuries old witch, Rowena MacLeod looked not a day older than her own son. You knew that magic ran deep within your veins, on your mother’s side as well, but you were never told much about her. Over the years, Rowena would come and go, and you always enjoyed her stay for however long it lasted. She became a reluctant confidant, and by the time you were a grown woman, you felt comfortable disclosing feelings you were having about leaving the castle to explore what lived beyond its walls.

Rowena would always warn you against it, explaining how you needed to adhere to Crowley’s rules and stay safe.

“The abilities you have, my dear, will be sought-after by many. Going out beyond the walls of this place is only askin’ for trouble,” she’d say, then pinch your chin between her small fingers. “Be sure to heed me, love. You don’ want to be going against your father now. But I shall have a word with him when he returns, see if I can’t get him to loosen the reigns a bit.”

True to her word, Rowena pulled Crowley aside, and pleaded a case for you to spread your wings beyond his control. There were a lot of raised voice that night reverberating through the castle walls, none of which sounded promising for you. Being an adult should mean you could come and go as you pleased, but Crowley had refused your request every time. The arguing that radiated from his chambers didn’t give you much hope that Rowena was going to have more luck.

The knock at your bedroom door came well into the night. You had been in bed for hours but sleep never did come. Pulling your robe tight around your waist, you opened the door enough to see Crowley standing just beyond it.

“May I?” he asked with a sweeping gesture of his hand.

“Of course,” you replied flatly and opened the door further.

“Did I wake you, pet?”

“No, and please don’t call me that. I hate it.”

“As you wish. I guess you can assume why I’m here. I imagine you heard your grandmother and I discussing you.”

You rolled your eyes and went back to where you had been laying in bed. “She hates being called that.”

“I’m aware. Why do you think I do it?” he smirked and clasped his hands behind his back as he slowly explored your room.

“You’re a delight, you know that?”

“So, I’ve been told. Look, (Y/N) I know that being kept here has made you bitter and cold towards me. Though I have my reasons for keeping you close, I suppose that maybe I’ve been a trifle bit unfair. I’m willing to discuss terms of a deal that will give you some freedom, maybe satisfy your need to leave the grounds and explore what’s out there in this small, sad little world.”

“Boy, you make that sound enticing,” you groaned as you delicately crawled onto the bed and drew your knees up into your chest.

“Would you rather I lie?”

“You always lie. Its who you are,” you scoffed and averted your gaze. Normally that would earn you a glare of intense anger from him. This time, he simply waved you off.

“You’re just angry right now, but if you hear me out, it may vastly improve your mood, pet.”

“Father. Please, stop.”

“Daughter,  _please_  listen. Because I offer this once and only once.”

“Fine, what are your terms?”

“Your freedom…” he mused, holding out his hands as though he was weighing your options for you.

“For?”

“One, very small, favor.”

“Please don’t make me drag it out of you,” you moaned, already feeling tired from the conversation.

“I need you to marry the youngest Lord Winchester.”

“You, what?!” you exclaimed, jumping up from the bed. “I will do no such thing!”

“If you want out of this castle, or even this room, you will. Do you know why I’ve kept you so sheltered all these years? Hmm?”

You subtly shook your head, almost fearing the answer he was finally willing to give.

“Its because I knew this day would come. You were going to be the key to everything. You and the overbearingly tall muppet are going to wed and produce an heir for both families to fawn over. Then, you and our linage will have just as much right to their lands, as they do. I won’t have to try and steal them, they won’t burn them to the ground. It’s a win-win, really.”

“I doubt His Highness Winchester will agree. Father, you’ve tried and failed far too many times, the Winchesters will never trust you to—” You froze as the expression contorted on Crowley’s face. Your stomach bottomed out at the realization that he knew that the Winchesters would indeed agree, because they already had.

“John Winchester sent a messenger this morning. He’s agreed to allow you to marry his youngest son. Apparently, he’s not found a new wife since his fiancé died last year. Imagine that giant, just shuffling around that enormous castle all alone with his little cane, no one to talk to but his servants. Poor, muppet,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

“You’re cruel,” you glared.

“I am. It’s a gift.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you walked towards the solitary window in your chambers. Leaning against the ledge of stone, you looked out over the sea and watched the moon’s glow dance on the waves that were crashing on the cliffs below. You briefly wondered how many times you had imagined stealing a boat and just setting sail to a brand-new place, leaving Crowley and his wretched castle behind. That view had granted you many a day dreams in your life, and now here was a chance at maybe bringing some of them to fruition. All you had to do….

“I would live there? If I said yes, I could live there and be away from you?” you turned your head sharply to gauge his reaction, venom dripping from your words. There was a moment where you thought he may have been hurt, and that internally made you smile.

“Yes, you’d live there. That was part of Winchester’s conditions.”

“And what do you get out of this? Other than, hopefully, a grandchild that you will most likely ruin and that will inherent the Winchester’s lands. I can’t imagine any of them agreeing to it for solely that reason.”

Crowley sat on the edge of the trunk that lived at the foot of your bed. He leaned back on his elbows, resting against the footboard and crossed one leg over the other. Turning his hands up and shrugging he sighed. “That, my dearest daughter, is not your concern.”

“But it is. How do I know I am walking into a safe environment? Yes, there is a nervous peace between you and John Winchester, but how can I be certain that I won’t be hung immediately once I walk inside? They don’t have a reputation of kindness towards witches.”

“Is that what you are, now? Taking after grammy, I see,” he chuckled darkly.

“Better her than you,” you spat, glaring at his smug expression. “I may be your daughter, but I will never be anything like you.”

“Aw, come now, darling. You are more like me than you will ever know,” he replied absently, while examining his cuticles.

Crowley finally sat up from his place on the chest and sauntered over to the window. “I know you’re not thrilled that you were born of these loins,” he paused at your disgusted expression and stifled a grin, “however, you are of my blood. No matter how much of your mother was left in you, the part of you that I contributed to making, will always rise to the top.” He took your cheek gently by his palm and lifted your eyes to his face. “YOU will always me  _my_  daughter, love me or hate me, you will always be a MacLeod; even when you’re being bedded by a Winchester. Remember that, my pet. Remember it.”

The glare of his eyes flashed red, instilling you with a quick streak of fear. You’d only seem him enact this trick a few times in your life, and it always unnerved you to no end. Realizing that going along with his plans was the only way to get what you wanted as well, you closed your eyes in resignation.

“Yes, father. I will.”

“Is that a yes to the deal? Will you marry Samuel?”

“Yes, I will marry Lord Winchester.”

* * *

 

“I will do NO such thing!” Samuel raged, slamming his fist against the hardwood dining table.

On the other end, John Winchester sat in his high-backed chair, the scowl nearly permanent on his face. He exhaled deeply, trying to maintain some composure in the face of his very angry son.

Sam pushed back from the table, leaving his cane resting against it and limped with a stalking anger towards John.

“How dare you even ask me to do something like that!”

“Son, if you’ll just hear me out—”

“I’ve heard what you had to say, and I can’t believe you would honestly suggest something so vile! First of all, to marry anyone else would be a disgrace to Jessica’s memory! Then, to have it be a Minion of MacLeod! It’s finally happened, you’ve lost your mind.”

Towering over his father, John sat up straighter in the chair and gazed up at his youngest son.

“Samuel, I am sorry for your loss, I am, but at some point, you need to move on and accept that you have a responsibility to this family. You chose not to go and fight on the battlefields against the purgatory creatures, like your brother did. I agreed to let you stay here and help rule this Kingdom. But with that came certain responsibilities. One of which—”

“Yeah, I know, an heir. You and your damned blood line,” he mumbled and turned to head back to his seat. When he finally reached it, he slumped down and pushed his plate far from his face. Reaching for the silver goblet, he slugged back the remainder of his wine and immediately filled it.

“Its important, son. More important than many things. After me, you are set to rule should Dean not return from the war. After you, there needs to be someone. These lands cannot fall out of the hands of our family. What we defend here is too important. Your mother died defending them and I’ll be damned if I let them fall into the wrong hands.”

“And including the MacLeod’s is a good move? You might as well just hand Crowley the match and step back to watch them burn.”

“No,” he said, pushing back from the table, standing up to his full height. A knuckled fist slammed to the table, rattling the china plates and glass decanters, “that’s where you’re wrong. Crowley wants these lands because he understands how pure and fertile, they truly are. There’s no other place in the realm where the land is as rich as it is here. After the Great Angel War, everything was tarnished. But not Lawrence. The magic here kept it void of the blackness that seems to infest everywhere else.”

Sam had heard all these stories before. It was far before his time, and even John’s, but Henry was alive to have seen the world how it had been before the angels reigned hellfire down on Earth.

“Sam,” John paused, trying to find the right words to convince his son that his plan was the only way for a successful future. Too much was riding on his compliance. “Crowley needs them to fuel his magic. If this marriage is successful, we save Lawrence from another attack, and it gets that old demon off our backs. Then, we can get from them what we need.”

Sam sighed. “And what would that be?”

“An Army.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, a deep furrow of concerned resting between his brows. He slowly sat forward in his chair, his mouth hovering open in shock.

“You want the Minions. Those…  _creatures_ ,” the word spat from his mouth as if it were poison, “For an army. Why? To what end?”

“End the War in Purgatory and bring your brother home. To strength our numbers and our men. Less and less of the people are pledging to fight for our causes. We need to reinforce—”

“No! We don’t!” Sam stood once again from his chair. This time grabbing the cane he needed more frequently than ever before. “You claim to be a peace keeper, but really, you’re power hungry. You’re no better than Crowley! You want revenge for mom, and I can relate to that. I want nothing more to find who killed Jessica and make them suffer. But even I wouldn’t put an entire Kingdom in jeopardy to do it. Not because I couldn’t, but because she wouldn’t want me too.”

John stood silently, not agreeing or denying what Sam claimed to be true. He simply exhaled and steadied his quaking anger.

“This is not the conversation that needs having at the moment, Samuel!” John roared, his deep echo bouncing across the stone walls of the cavernous room. “The only conversation that we should be having, is deciding when and where you will marry (Y/N) MacLeod. That, my son, is your priority, not dictating to me how to maintain and run my kingdom.”

John stood up straighter, pushing his shoulders back and taking several deep breaths, to calm the tension that ran through him. “If I could send you off to the battlefield, Samuel. I would. But clearly, that isn’t your place anymore.” John’s eyes glanced down at Sam’s hobbled hip briefly, before meeting his son’s gaze again. “You’re going to help this family protect the lands, and anything good and pure left in this realm. If that means marrying the enemy, then so be it.”

Sam stood quietly, internalizing everything his father was laying on him. He hated John for making him do this, and even more for what he had planned in partnership with Crowley. Deep down though, he knew that he would go along with it, and maybe, if he was lucky, everything could still work out in his favor.

“I’ll do what you ask, I won’t fight you on it. But rest assured of one thing. All that was left good and pure in this world, died with Jessica. If you think for one second that me doing this supports your plans in any way, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Sam took a final few steps closer to his father. For the first time Sam noticed the lines and age in his father’s face, how the streaks of gray ran rampant through his once jet black hair. The weariness in John Winchester’s eyes was not lost on his son, either.

Sam snickered. “One day, you’ll be gone, and I will be the one to rule in Lawrence. The first thing I am going to do is erase anything that reminds me of you and the terrible decisions you made while in power. But rest assured, old man, I’ll be sure that when the drunks down in the taverns sing songs written about you, they’ll say how you nearly ruined one entire Kingdom because you were too much of a coward to say no to a demon.”

Satisfaction danced in his eyes as John once against straightened his back, trying to stand taller against his son. Sam turned on his heel and began walking towards the corridor. Just before he left, he turned back to John. “The wedding will happen in our hidden chapel the night after next. I won’t have anyone in the town see this  _farce_ take place. So, it should only be you, Crowley, the girl and the Maester. Tell Robert I want him to bless the union–.”

“First, only a day’s notice isn’t much time. Besides, Robert isn’t yours to use, Samuel. He’s my Maester—”

“He’s the Winchester’s family Maester. As you so often tell me, I  _am_ a Winchester, am I not?” Sam turned back and went down the corridor. Before he disappeared into the depths of his family’s castle, he called back, “night after next, or not at all!”

Despite the deal he just made, which made him feel dirty and soiled, Sam smiled to himself. The idea of marrying Crowley’s daughter made his blood run cold, but if it helped in his own mission of revenge, he would bare it for as long as he had to. Not revealing his hand to his father, John unknowingly gave him just what he needed to make a strong move against Crowley. Sam knew by then, with complete certainty, that it was MacLeod himself responsible for Jessica’s death. Getting close to Crowley, however, wasn’t going to be easy. Without his brother around to help him, Sam needed to find another way.

Marrying the demon’s daughter, was just the diversion he needed.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning of the ceremony, Sam made his way through the maze of tunnels that lead to Singer’s Apothecary. At the end of the corridor stood the oversized wooden monstrosity that led to the lair’s entrance. Using the key given to him by Singer, he made quick work of the lock and let himself in.

Passing through the frigid stoned clad archway, Sam sighed with relief when he came through the other side and felt the warm breath of heat from the fire that was always burning beneath the cauldron. The invisible barrier kept unwanted and unworthy souls out, but the cost of walking through it left a chill in Sam’s spine for days after. Bobby said it worked better than the warding that was used along the Kingdom’s borders. “It’s just a smart play,” he’d said when Sam questioned why he’d set the barrier in the first place, “considering most of the stuff in here could wipe out all of Lawrence in one fell swoop.”

Bobby had always been a friend to Sam, even when John warned him against it. Robert Singer, Maester of the Winchester House, came from a long line of men who both understood battle and books. He was well versed in spell work, warding, potions and history of creatures, both common and mysterious. He acted as a counselor to John when the King wasn’t sure how to attack a certain enemy; he’d turn to Bobby, his trusted friend, and most sought-after advisor. Even when they didn’t agree, John would at least hear him out. So, Sam knew that if he needed a way to influence his father, Bobby would be the place to start.

Sam stepped into the room and let his eyes wander slowly around. The floor-to-ceiling walls of books loomed high above him. Dual spiral staircases rose up towards the cathedral ceilings, to a narrow metal catwalk that stretched out along the perimeter. Vines and greeneries were hanging or draped from the rails, some of them blooming with

No sign of the old man.

“Bobby?” Sam called out and took a few steps closer to the fireplace. No response. Sam waited for another beat, then called out for him again. “Bobby, you here?”

“Down here, boy!”

Sam followed the direction of Bobby’s voice through one of the heavy black draperies that separated the rooms and down into the root cellar where he was stocking jars of lamb’s blood.

Taking his time on the stairs, he ducked down into the small space. “How do you work down here,” he asked, finally just taking a seat on the cold stones.

“Well, I ain’t ten feet tall like some people,” he snorted and placed the last jar. “What can I do for you, Sam?”

“Tonight… you’re going?”

Bobby nodded then started shaking his head. “What the hell is your father thinking?” he mumbled, knowing that Sam wouldn’t fight him on it. “If you’re here to ask me to muck it up somehow…” Bobby inhaled sharply and passed Sam an admonishing look, “it’s not a good idea, son.”

“No, that’s not why I’m here. I’m resigned to it, Bobby. I am marrying her, and that’s it.”

Bobby gave him a challenging look. “And I’m supposed to just believe that?”

“It’s the truth,” Sam shrugged. “I’m tired of fighting him on everything. If it makes him happy and helps the family and the Kingdom…” Sam trailed off and gave Bobby, his most sincere smile as he repeated the mantra he and Dean had been programmed to live by. “For the Protection of Lands and Family. Saving people and killing things, the family business. Right?”

“Mhm,” Bobby mumbled and offered Sam a hand to stand up. “Come on, you can help me sort the herbs upstairs while you tell me what it is you can here for.”

Once they were back in the Apothecary’s main quarters, Sam took a seat at Bobby’s workbench and began to separate the lavender from the meadowsweet. Bobby worked on the greeneries and kept passing curious glances at Sam from the corner of his eye.

“Well, spill it, boy. You don’t just come and do grunt work with me for shits and giggles. You got somethin’ on your mind. So, speak.”

Sam snorted, the corner of his mouth turned up. “I never mind grunt worth, if I’m in here with you. John hates it in here. But you’re right. I do need something. I want to find the Oracle. I know she’s been in town. Last I was down in the taverns, one of the men there talked of visiting her. I want to see her, Bobby.”

“To what end?” he asked, not taking his eyes from his work.

“I want to know how this all plays out. The marriage, the partnership. This tentative peace that lives between us and Crowley.”

It was Bobby’s turn to scoff. “If you think its that easy, you got another thing comin’.”

“What do you mean? She’s an oracle, isn’t she? She can see the future. Isn’t that what oracles, do?”

“Yeah, in theory. Doesn’t mean she can read  _your_  future.”

“Why not?” Sam asked, mildly incensed. “What’s wrong with my future?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, ya jackass. I just meant that, you're enchanted. You have been since you were a boy. Why do you think you just broke that hip instead of being killed?”

Sam sat up straighter at the mention of his accident. He hated talking about it… thinking about it. The way the sword pierced him through the back causing him to fall. The horse running across the battlefield, crushing his hip and shattering it to pieces. He was lucky to be alive, much less be able to walk at all.

* * *

 

_Dean had carried him all the way to Singer’s Apothecary from the field where he assumed his brother had died. He appeared lifeless, his skin cool to the touch, his heartbeat so faint, it might as well have been non-existent. Dean demanded Bobby fix him… save him. But the old Maester said it was too late, the boy had died from the stab wound._

_Minutes later, Sam gasped for air and immediately wailed in pain. The crushed bones in his hip causing a streak of discomfort like he never had before. The burning hot wound from the knife closing completely on its own. The youngest Winchester Prince sat up, eyeing his brother, fear rampant in his eyes._

_“Dean… how?”_

_“I don’t know,” he said as he threw his arms around his brother’s neck, his hands balling into fists and beating against his back in triumph. “I thought we lost you, Sammy.”_

* * *

 

Bobby’s voice snapped Sam back to the present, back to the favor.

“Did you hear me?”

“No, I drifted.”

“Hmm. I said the Oracle won’t be able to read you, ya idjit. Whatever your mother cast over you as a baby, it's impenetrable. No spells, potions or lore I’ve ever read can break what she did.”

Sam sighed. “I at least want to try.”

“It's your gold, son. I’ll take you to her, but there’s no time—”

“Make time, Bobby. I need to do this before the ceremony tonight.”

Bobby eyed him with frustration. “You and your father… so damn demanding,” he mumbled and pulled his cloak down from its hook. “Get your stuff, let’s go before your father realizes your gone.”

 

  


 

The Oracle’s hovel was well off the beaten path that led from the Kingdom of Lawrence and into the dense forest that sat between the city and the portal entrance to the battlefields of Purgatory. She lived simply, but she accepted only gold as payment. Samuel’s coffer was full to the brim with as much gold as he could shove in there, unsure of what it would take to get her to read him truly. He didn’t really believe Bobby’s claim and needed to see for himself.

Bobby pulled the reigns of his horse, asking the beast to stop by the walkway that led to her small cabin that was built into the side of the hill. The ornate wagon Sam drove with his two best steeds came to a stop behind Bobby’s mare.

“Come on,” Bobby urged, looking up into the sky. “Day’s light is fading and its at least an hour ride back. If we’re late…”

“We won’t be. We’ll be there.”

They approached the door, and as Bobby raised his fist to knock, it opened before he could. A woman with long, dark hair stood in the entry, her eyes were as white as snow and the smile she wore was as bright as the sun.

“Robert… my old friend,” she beamed and moved to hug him without hesitation. Sam watched them with a small, satisfied smile. It was odd for him to see Bobby in anyone’s company or affections, except John’s.

“Pamela,” Bobby nearly sang. “Lovely as ever. I brought—”

“The Prince, yes, I know,” she released Bobby’s greeting and turned her haunting eyes towards Sam.

“Samuel Winchester, the enchanted boy prince. I was wondering when you would come to see me.”

Sam’s expression faltered as he looked between her and Bobby. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to read me at all,” he said, leaving out Bobby’s role in the seed of doubt.

“Let’s see what we see, shall we?” she urged with the same, bright grin. “Come,” she took his hand and led him inside towards the center of the room. She motioned towards the round wooden table, covered in a plum-colored velvet cloth. “Come sit at the table and let’s see what the spirits have to offer for you, Samuel.”

On the cloth was a gold leaf triad knot, at each point was a high back wooden chair for them to take place in. Their hands clasped together around the table, eyes closed, breath steady. Pamela mumbled a variety of words in the old Enochian. Some Sam could recall from his old lessons, others sounded foreign to his ears. As she pressed on, the air in the room became cold and heavy at the same time. It made Sam feel as if there was something in there looming over them.

There was a lengthy pause, and just as Sam begun to wonder if it was going to work at all, Pamela began to speak.

“You’re in deep despair,” she whispered, her ghostly eyes wide and raised up to the ceiling. “You mourn her, still. Though her spirit has crossed the veil, you cannot let her go. Need for vengeance drives you to make rash choices. But… they are meant to be made.”

The table began to vibrate, and a breeze cascaded through the room, causing the candles to flicker chaotically. Pamela continued with more Enochian as if she was holding a conversation with the unseen visitor, and then translating it to you.

“You hold jealousy in your heart. Wishing to trade places with your brother. To be gone, in battle. You must realize though, that isn’t your place. Your place is here. With her.”

“Her?” Sam rasped in question. “Her, who?”

“The twin to your soul. The one who holds your future. She’s yet to show herself, but behind the feathers, the dark, iridescent feathers, lies the match to your unburnt flame. She’ll be of great comfort to you when your grief folds you over and renders you useless.”

“That makes no sense to me,” he muttered in reply, looking to Bobby who sat and watched quietly, giving him no type of reaction at all.

“There’s something dark, something laying in wait for… you, your family. A cloud, as black as a reaper’s suit. It waits. When you recognize it, don’t hesitate. Act and you’ll be protected, no matter what you think may happen.”

The Oracle made no sense. Sam couldn’t imagine anything she was saying to apply to him. There were no other women in the world for him. Ever. Regardless of the arrangement of his marriage. That  _woman_  wouldn’t be long for this world, that he could be sure of. Whatever darkness she spoke of, everyone knew of the past feud with Crowley, even the traveling Oracle must have heard the tales, so she could easily feed him a warning and apply it to Crowley.

As for Crowley’s daughter, she would be a sacrifice. An eye for an eye. The Oracle never saw that, nor any of his other plans he was hopeful she would have touched on. He was beginning to think that Bobby had been right all along and that Pamela was just saying anything to make him feel fulfilled with going to see her.

Pamela’s hands started to shake and as she quickly spoke in Enochian the entire atmosphere one room changed, the heaviness was gone, and the warmth reclaimed the small space. She released both of their hands, then brought her nonexistent gaze back to Sam’s face.

“That was it?” he asked suspiciously, “Nothing else at all?”

Pamela just shook her head. “I know you don’t understand your message, yet. But I promise you, dear boy, you will.”

He considered straight out asking about the marriage, and if his plans for Crowley’s daughter would elicit the outcome he wanted, but he stopped himself. Revealing his plans to Bobby would just be stupid. The old Maester would surely try and stop him. Besides, he wanted the truth from the oracle. If he outright asked her, she could just give him the answer she thought he wanted.

Instead, Sam smiled and took her hand in both of his. “I sure hope so, madame. Here, a gift for your time.”

He reached into his coat pocket and placed the coffer of coins into her palm. When the weight of the bag sat heavy in her hand, she gasped slightly in surprise. “No, this is far too much, Lord Samuel. I know you aren’t pleased with what came through, and even if you were, this is just taking advantage.”

“No, take it,” he said and closed her fingers around the bag. “Use it to spread good cheer or help a neighbor if you can’t use it yourself. I just appreciate your time.”

“Well, thank you, M’Lord. I will put these coins to good use. Next time though, its’ on me. No matter what you think now, I have a feeling you’ll be back.” She smirked knowingly and gave him a lingering wink.

After a brief goodbye, Sam and Bobby were back on the road towards Lawrence. They rode in silence for a while until Bobby couldn’t take the quiet any longer.

“Well, feel better?”

“No,” Sam said, “I think maybe, you were right. She couldn’t read me.”

“Then what she was saying, you don’t believe her?”

“No,” he said again, “None of what she said rang true, nor did it feel genuine. I’m not calling her out as a fraud. But…” he trailed off and shrugged, causing Bobby’s expression to fall and replace it with disgust.

“Boy, don’t. That woman is the real deal. No tricks. No hoodoo. She’s a seer, through and through. If she couldn’t read you, or if what she read was false, its simply because of—”

“Whatever mother did.”

“Yes. So, can we move on now, please? Get back, get you cleaned up and get you married before your father realizes you’re not there?”

Sam nodded without saying anything more, clicked his tongue with the reigns to speed the horses up and get home to meet his new bride.

 

  


 

 

It was the first time ever in your memory that you had been allowed to leave Crowley’s compound and the castle walls that had encased you for nearly your entire life. This day, you could pack your most favorite belongings and leave the grounds for good. You would never have to spend another night locked away in some old, musty turret, dreaming of escape. Though marrying a Winchester was not something you were happy about it, if it meant earning a one-way ticket out, you would promise to be his wife.

The caravan that was carrying you to your new life was moving slowly towards the other end of the realm where the Winchester Castle stood in all its ornate glory. Never having seen it with your own eyes, or any of the realms, really, you had to rely on the stories and descriptions from others. Even the man you were intended to marry, Samuel, you knew nothing about him except what you heard in whispers among Crowley’s people.

To your side, Rowena had her nose buried deep in an oversized book that was nearly as old as she was. Crowley refused to accompany you to the Winchester’s castle, instead of sending Rowena in his place. She complained, of course, but in the end, she relented and went willingly.

You watched her read the book and wondered if she knew the man you’d been betrothed too. Had she been to the Winchester castle? Had she ever met the King? So many questions ran through your mind as to what Rowena could answer for you now that you were out of Crowley’s reach.

“Rowena, do you know him?”

“Who’s that, dear?” she asked, not taking her eyes from the page.

“Samuel.”

“Aye,” she replied, drawing out the word slowly.

Rowena felt your eyes on her but did her best to concentrate on the book in her hand. It wasn’t just any book, and it had been her prize for escorting you to your new home and staying with you until the ceremony was done. She hoped you wouldn’t be peppering her with questions, but once you started, it was hard to stop.

“What’s he like? Is he deformed like some say? Hobbled?”

She sighed deeply and closed the Book of the Damned. “Well, yes, but not as bad as some would like to say.”

“What do you mean?”

“From what I understand, he was wounded in the early days of the war in Purgatory. Some said that his brother carried his lifeless body all the way home from the battlegrounds. Yet, when they got there, the young prince had found life again. It’s not impossible I suppose, I’ve certainly seen my share of men rise from the dead. Either that or the brother is a nit wit and can’t find a heartbeat properly,” she rolled her eyes and waved him off. “He healed, but he walks with a cane and couldn’t return to battle.”

You just grunted in understanding. “Is he kind or is he more like father? Purposely withholding and cruel, and unable to love anything.”

“Your father loves you, dear. He’s just… preoccupied. As for Samuel, I’ve only ever met him once, and from what I could see, I don’ think you’ll have much trouble with him.”

Casting your eyes out of the carriage window, you watched the countryside pass by as the horses slowly made their way towards the Lawrence River. It was the first time you could recall seeing it up close. The sound of the rushing water was soothing to your ears and for the first time, you wondered if you would miss the sound of the waves against the cliffs that would echo through your chambers throughout the night.

So many nights it had helped lull you to sleep, especially when thoughts of things that plagued you invaded your dreams. That led to another question popping in your head. Something you had wanted to ask Rowena for years, but for fear of suffering Crowley’s wraith, you abstained. But now, his influence was far away, and there was no one to stop you from asking.

“Will you tell me about my mother? Now that we’re gone from his walls? He never tells me anything about her.”

Rowena glanced at you, her eyes filled with warning. “You’re just full of questions, aren’t you, poppet? That is not a place you want to go to. Let that sleeping dog lie.”

“But why? She’s  _my_  mother, why can’t I know about her? He tells me that I’m so much like them both, but I see nothing of myself in him. He’s cruel, and power hungry. All he cares about are his demons and his Kingdom. Being ‘ _the Red King’_  has gone to his head, made him even more foul and loathsome than before.”

“Easy, child. He may be a right and proper cunt, but he’s still my son. An I won’ have ya speaking of him that way. Fergus is who he is, partially because I was an awful mum to him. Yet, look at what he’s built. If you don’ think that the Winchesters feel the say way about their father, you’re sadly mistaken. No child loves their parent truly, not if that child wants to grow up with power and purpose.”

“I’m not a child,” you mumbled and closed your eyes in disgust at what you heard pour from her lips. Deciding that was enough questions, you turned back to watch the scenery pass by. Rowena opened her book again, thinking the conversation was done, but the way your conversation ended sat heavily on her mind.

“Then stop acting like one,” she retorted and took her hand into hers. “You have every right to ask about your mother. But, its just not something that needs to be discussed now. Know that she loved you and she didn’ want to leave, but she had to. One day, I’ll tell you more, but for now, you just remember that she loved you and only wanted the best things for you.”

You exhaled deeply and when you looked back out of the window again, you could see the tall peaks and turrets of the castle in the distance. The closer you got, the more of the slate gray stones of the towers could be seen coming up through the dense forest that surrounded it. It was exciting and yet, terrifying, to think of being anywhere but your father’s compound. Up until this point, it almost felt surreal. Yet, here you were staring down the place that would become your new home. IF the Winchesters were true to their word and let you live, that is.

There was still some doubt as to the validity of Crowley’s claim to your safety and it had weighed heavily on your mind for the past two days. The deal itself felt sudden and strange, and you couldn’t help but feel like there was something more to it. An undercurrent of treachery so great, that it had the potential to cause irreparable damage to many lives. The Winchesters, after all, were your father’s greatest enemy for many years and the only ones who had ever proved to be so troublesome.

You weren’t going to leave the compound for the Winchester’s and not be prepared to defend yourself. Yet, straight up slaughtering your husband-to-be would most certainly lead to your death as well. There had to be a better plan…

The night before leaving home, you snuck down into the chambers Rowena kept for her visits. There, you paged through the stacks of books until you found the spell you wanted; a simple love spell.  _“Better safe than sorry,”_  you had told yourself as you waited for the clear liquid to cool. Once it did, it flashed a bright, blood red and then faded back to its transparent state. Two drops of that in Lord Winchester’s drink would guarantee him to fall head over heels in love with you.

 _“And unable to slice your throat from ear to ear,”_  you mused silently, as the castle continued to grow as the carriage closed the distance. It was self-defense if needed, or even an escape plan once you were sure no one was watching. Either way, the potion was hidden away between the swell of your breasts, ready to be used in an instant if need be.

The stone cobbled guard tower came into view, surrounded by at least four of the Winchester Guard. Your heart began to pound just as Rowena gave your hand a squeeze.

“Here we go girly, keep your wits and remember where you come from,” she said then plastered on her best fake, yet charming smile.

 

Once the carriage was granted passage, you and Rowena were escorted towards the castle’s entrance. When the carriage door opened, one of the Winchester Guards was there to help you carefully down and bowed slightly once your feet were firmly on the gravel.

Looking around, you were already in awe of your surroundings. The stark contrast of where you had lived to this new place was almost shocking. In place of the putrid and dank forest that caged Crowley’s compound, there were trees and greeneries that were dotted with an abundance of colorful, fragrant flowers. The breeze smelled of orchids and fruit instead of sulfur and death. The sun was bright and warm, and the clouds floated by like wispy remnants of cotton candy, instead of the thunderous threatening ones that plagued the sky and loomed over the MacLeod homestead.

This place was alive with beauty and hope, and suddenly you could see why Crowley wanted it so desperately. You’d only been there for a handful of minutes and you already never wanted to leave.

“Come, (Y/N), they want to escort you to your chambers,” Rowena beckoned. When you didn’t immediately comply, she grabbed your hand and yanked you forward. “Will you please act like you’ve been around people before?” she chastised under her breath.

Giving her a dangerous scowl, she recoiled sharply but not enough for the others to notice.

“Remember who helped you get here, dear,” she mumbled before linking her elbow through yours and moving you up the stairs and into the grand entrance of the Winchester’s Castle.

The guards led you through the winding passageways and up to one of the turret rooms. It was sparse in furniture and décor, but you didn’t care. It was the view from the window that captured your attention. From its height, you could see a remarkable amount of Lawrence, including the river and far off foothills that led straight back to the cliffs you used to call home.

 _“Never again,”_ you thought and absently touched your cleavage, thinking of the love potion hidden there.

“His Majesty would like you to remain here until the time of the ceremony. Should you require anything, a chambermaid will be up soon to see to your needs,” the guard proclaimed flatly before bowing his head and taking his leave.

“Alright, let’s get you ready for this,” Rowena said and opened the trunk you’d brought with you. She pulled the dress from it and wrinkled her nose. “This is what you’re wearing?” She held the pale-pink colored frock as if it were garbage out in front of her. “Come now, this is so… not you.”

“Father chose it. Said he wanted me to appear chased and innocent,” you mused, clasping your hands behind your back and slowly walking around it.

“Well, your father isn’t here, is he? No way I will let any grandchild of mine put such a wretched color on her body. Surely, I understand why he wants you to appear that way… no man wants a woman for a wife that isn’t pure, but you are a MacLeod for cryin’ out loud. You should be dressed as one!”

“Take it up with Father,” you replied nonchalantly, secretly loving Rowena’s disgust of the dress he chose and laughing to yourself that Crowley assumed you were so chased. It occurred to you then that maybe he didn’t know all that you had been up to while living under his roof. Just because you had been a virtual prisoner in your father’s home, didn’t mean that you didn’t explore your sexuality and feelings of need over the years.

“He won’t even be here until the damned ceremony, the little twat. Suppose in that time I could find you something more appropriate.” Grabbing her wrap from the end of the small bed, she draped it over herself and cocked the corner of her mouth into a pursed grin. “I’ll be back with something more fitting for you. Until I get back, rest dear, you’re going to need it.”

Once she was gone, you slipped the small vile of the potion from between your breasts and held it up to the light. Would it be enough to save you? Would it even work on the hobbled Lord of the manner? Sighing deeply, you returned it to its hiding place and paced the room before closing the trunk and sitting on top of it. Beside you on the bed, one of Rowena’s bags was half open, and out of it stuck the corner of the Book of the Damned. Knowing she would be gone a while, you dared to peek inside. As you paged through the ancient text, a new idea began to form in your mind and a devilish grin right along with it. The magic that the book contained was far too powerful for you, but there were a few spells that you may be able to manage and would certainly help if you found yourself backed into a corner.

Without hesitation, you jumped up from the trunk and opened it again, rifling through it to find your own parchment and quill. Quickly copying down the spells you thought may come in handy, you felt your spirits rise even more than they had when you first laid eyes on the castle.

 

* * *

 

 

The dungeons were dark and dimly lit, but Samuel could find his way there blind if he had too. The echo of his hard heels and cane against the stone floor rattled against the walls as he rounded the corner and entered the small room where the ceremony was to take place.

He’d heard the girl had arrived earlier in the day, while he was off with Bobby at the seer’s hut, but he had no desire to see her. Instead, he quietly retired to his own chambers and spent the rest of the afternoon mulling over the things the seer foretold. Mingled with that, were his plans for (Y/N) MacLeod. He tried to think of her only as Crowley’s daughter, hoping it would make ending her life a bit easier. But it did not. Despite his desperate need to enact vengeance for Jessica, a sliver of doubt had begun to seep into his veins. This girl was innocent, wasn’t she? She couldn’t help being a spawn of that creature, just like he couldn’t help being born a Winchester. It had just been their respective crosses to bear. Should she suffer for her father’s crimes? Could he live with himself to take the life of a woman, even if she was a witch in training, that bore the name of his enemy?

These questions and concerns plagued him for most of the afternoon, and even now as he made his way into the chambers where the ceremony would be held, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was going about this plot of revenge all wrong.

Footsteps from behind caught his attention, as his father appeared from the curve of the staircase.

“Samuel,” he greeted, a satisfied smirk buried on his lips. “Glad to see you here, promptly, and even dressed as the Lord of Winchester Castle should be.” John plucked at one of the pointed corners of Sam’s black coat and brushed the wrinkle from the front of the black silk vest worn beneath it.

“Stop it,” Sam mumbled and turned from John, so he wasn’t within is reach any longer.

“Have you seen her yet?” John asked, unphased by his son’s show of rejection.

“No.”

“I’m surprised. I’d thought you would want to taste the milk before you bought the cow,” John scoffed, clearly proud of his joke at the expense of his future daughter-in-law.

Sam just rolled his eyes and limped about the room, gripping the pommel of his cane and preying it would absorb the growing rage he felt towards his father.

“Nervous, son?”

Turning sharply on his heel, Sam glared daggers at his father. “No. Please stop acting like you care how I feel about this.”

“But I do care. This… this is bigger than you, Sammy—”

“You don’t call me that,” he growled and turned away again.

Shuffling towards the table that held a decanter of wine and goblets, Sam poured himself a cup full and drank it in one gulp, relishing in the sting of it as it cascaded down his throat. Just as he was about to pour another when approaching voices from the corridor stopped him.

Bobby entered, followed by a petite woman in a blood red dress that bore a high lace neck and flowing lace skirt. Her shock of red hair and bright red lipstick almost made her hard to look at, yet there was something quite beautiful about her. Sam wondered for a moment if this was the woman that he was supposed to wed. She looked to be around the same age as his nemesis, but witches… they could mask their true ages now, couldn’t they?

“Rowena MacLeod,” John said, half a smile forced on his face. “Lovely to see you again.” He bowed his head slightly and turned to Sam. “This is Crowley’s mother, Rowena. Rowena, my son, Lord Samuel.”

Sam took her hand gingerly and bowed his torso slightly as he shook it. The movement sent a bolt of pain down from his hip to his feet, but his face would never tell the others how badly he wanted to cry out. In turn, she offered a polite smile and curtsy before stepping back, leaving a great distance between herself and the rest of the Winchesters.

Bobby took his place at the forefront of the chamber where there were two small cast iron containers of wildflowers. Candles flickered around the windowless room. As Maester Singer cleared his throat, John and Samuel took their place on one side of him, as Rowena took the other.

“No Crowley?” Sam asked casually, though inside he was deeply disappointed. He had so badly wanted to look the man who murdered the love of his life in the eye.

“He should be here,” Rowena said, trying not to sound annoyed. “He said he’d arrive—”

“And so I have,” Crowley smirked, appearing in the doorway, red smoke dissipating in the air around him. “You know how I like to make an entrance.”

The room fell awkwardly silent as Crowley sauntered into the room, his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his black suit pants. His dark eyes pounced from person to person, until they landed on Sam. That’s when he grinned. It was smarmy, a knowing type of grin and Sam resisted every urge to lunge at the man, tearing him limb from limb.

“Samuel,” Crowley cooed, approaching the boy and secretly wishing for him to act on whatever was hiding behind his blazing glare. “I hope you accept my sympathies. This can’t be easy for you. Marrying a woman that wasn’t… what was her name again?”

Sam towered over him silently, but inside, he was seething with rage.

“Enough, Crowley,” John warned, his head ticked to the side with frustration. “Can we just move this along, please? Then you and I have some things to discuss up in my chambers.”

“Right,” Crowley said, turning on his heel. “We most certainly do. Alright, let’s go. Where’s the girl?” he asked Rowena absently as he took his place beside her.

“She’s right outside, I’ll get her.”

Rowena scurried from the room, while the men stood in tense silence for what felt like an eternity. Finally, the echo of two sets of footsteps on the stone grew closer. Sam felt his mouth go dry and his chest tighten at what he was about to do. Marrying her was going to be the hard part. Speaking promises of love, caring and adoration for a woman he never met, who’s family he loathed with every bit of his being, would take every bit of strength he was able to muster up.

There was no music, no standing ovation from a crowd of weepy onlookers as there would have been, had Sam married Jessica as intended. A blanket of silence buried the room as (Y/N) walked in linked on Rowena’s arm. She looked to Crowley to come take his place to escort the bride to Sam, but he pretended not to notice.

Sam drew in a deep breath and finally had the courage to look at the woman approaching him. His heart began to pound the moment his eyes landed on her face. The dryness of his mouth extended to his throat, and he found it hard to swallow as he took her in, head to toe.

Her features didn’t resemble Crowley at all, she was nothing like him in the slightest. (Y/N) was beautiful, but Sam didn’t think that was the right word to describe what he was seeing. She was an ethereal being somehow manifesting in his presence. He felt his chest tighten, his hands grow sweaty and nervous. His tongue darted quickly over his lips, desperately giving them moisture that had seemed to leave his body.

Then, he saw what she was wearing, a black, strapless floor-length gown that was covered in tiny, reflective gems that made her simmer as if she were a dark angel straight from one of his childhood dreams. Quick flashes of lustrous blues and purples radiated from the wrap she wore over her shoulders, catching his eyes. When (Y/N) finally met him at the top of the aisle, he saw that the shawl was made from a flock of feathers… dark, iridescent feathers.

“Lord Samuel Winchester, Lady (Y/N) MacLeod, are you ready to be wed?” Bobby asked, holding his hands out, palms up, waiting for them both to accept. He watched as they both slowly nodded, barely holding the other’s gaze. “Great. Let’s begin, shall we?”

 


	3. Chapter 3

A glimmer of light reflected from her dress, capturing his attention again. Though relatively short, Samuel kept drifting in and out of the ceremony as his mind wandered through a battlefield of questions and emotions.

So much about what was happening felt wrong; yet somewhere inside, he knew it wasn’t. Each passing moment, he felt the Oracle’s words burning an imprint in his brain.

_“…_ _behind the feathers, the dark, iridescent feathers, lies the match to your unburnt flame. She’ll be of great comfort to you when your grief folds you over and renders you useless…”_

The meaning wasn’t quite clear to him yet, but it meant something. Whether it was that (Y/N) MacLeod was crucial to his plan against Crowley, or to his own demise, it wasn’t certain. Either way though, the nightmarish feeling of misery he lived with in his heart would be over. He’d have his revenge on Crowley, or he would be dead and in Heaven with his beloved.

Bobby continued with the promise and vows, not bothering to savor the moments as he did with any other previous ceremony. All parties involved were clearly anxious for it to be over, Samuel included. Once it was done, he could at least leave the shared space with Crowley and begin planning exactly how he would use his new wife to his advantage.

Samuel dared to look down at her then. Though the sheen of her gown was captivating, he purposely kept his eyes cast down at his hands, shoes, cane… anywhere that her curious gaze was not. He drew in a deep breath and being this close to her was able to pick up the scent of lilacs and juniper. Bobby’s words faded into the background as Samuel finally caught her gaze.

(Y/N) lifted her face up at the exact moment Sam looked down. It was also the same moment, Bobby asked them to join hands. He reluctantly held out his hand not using the cane for her to place her hand in. When she did, he was surprised to feel just how delicate her hands were. Her skin silky and warm, and her fingers held steady against his slightly trembling ones.

In stark contrast, her expression was steely and determined. She continued to meet his gaze, holding her head regally while pursing her full lips into knowing smirk. Sam couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts had set her face that way, then decided that he didn’t care. It didn’t matter because he refused to take the time to know her. She wouldn’t be alive long enough.

From within his cloak, Bobby removed the burlap chord that would be warded and tied to bound Sam’s and (Y/N)’s wrists, a symbol of their union as man and wife. That chord would be loosely tied and worn until the wedded couple reached their marriage bed to consummate the coupling. Samuel’s heart began to pound when the Maester wove it across both their wrists, securing it with an Enochian blessing.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed Crowley flinch at the prayer. His smug face fell away, and his jaw clenched, along with his hands. He seemed unsteady on his feet for just a moment; but enough of one for Sam to take note of. When the prayer was finished, Crowley steadied himself and straightened his shoulders.

“Can we get on with this, please?” the demon asked with a raise brow. “Some of us have other places to be.”

Bobby flashed him a look of disdain and continued with the ceremony. As he read the final passage from the Old Carver Testament, he raised both hands, placing one on each of their shoulders.

“Samuel, (Y/N), with this last gesture, I ask you to share your first kiss before the witnesses present, confirming your vows to be man and wife.”

A streak of panic washed over Sam’s face. His mouth went suddenly dry as his jaw clenched just like Crowley’s did a moment before. He looked back to (Y/N), who’s expression hadn’t altered one bit from the cool and unrattled exterior she presented before.

Sam took a step towards her, her hand still lightly held in his and leaned in. The closer he got, the more he could smell the lavender of her soap. Sam brushed his lips to the corner of her mouth, allowing only the briefest moment of contact. It wasn’t horrible, but he was glad to see she recoiled from it just as quickly as he did. It was enough, however, to satisfy the onlookers.

Bobby held both his hands out, palms up and directed his voice towards the entire room. “Forever here, joined in this place, may your lives together be long, happy, prosperous and in service to each other.”

With their wrists still bound, and no celebration to contend with, Samuel led (Y/N) from the catacombs and back up the stone stairwell. Slowly they ascended to the main floor of the castle, and that’s when he finally was able to speak to her freely.

“So, what now?” he asked.

“I supposed you’re suppose to get me pregnant,” she replied calmly, with a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Or, if you aren’t quite ready for that, we can say our goodnights and revisit this… problem, in the morning.”

Sam snickered. “Problem?”

“Yes, the issue of you can’t stand the sight of me, and I’m quite sure I’m meant to die in these walls.”

Her frankness caused him to choke and begin to cough. “What… what would ever give you that idea?” He tried to sound surprised, which he was, but not for the reasons she probably guessed.

(Y/N) smiled and rolled her eyes, but not in an annoyed sort of way. “Oh, you are a naïve one, aren’t you,” she tutted. “I’m a MacLeod, and you’re a Winchester. We are born to be mortal enemies, are we not?”

Sam shrugged, “I suppose.”

“So, what reason could our fathers have for putting this together other than to begin the War to end all Wars?”

“I don’t know, maybe they’ve honestly decided to let things go?” he lied. He knew the reason, and also realized that she probably did, too. (Y/N) wasn’t some stupid, naïve woman. Sheltered or not, he could tell just by the twinkle in her eyes that she knew far more than she was letting on. “Either way, I don’t think tonight is the time to figure it out.”

“No, I guess not,” she said, and for the first time, Samuel thought she actually looked nervous. “What are we to do about this?” She lifted her wrist that was bound to his.

“We go up to my chambers, untie it and figure out which side of the bed you want to sleep on. If we don’t make it look real… at least for tonight…”

“Better than getting lectured I suppose,” she relented. “Well, husband, lead the way.”

* * *

 

Up in Samuel’s chambers, the space was kept warm by a fire burning lowly in the hearth, but you still felt a chilly reception upon entering. You saw your trunks had been moved in there and Sam happened to see them just as you did. Being so close, with your wrists still bound, it was hard to miss his body flinch at the realization that he would REALLY be sharing his room with someone else. Someone, he never wanted.

You kept your cool about you, just as you had for most of the evening thus far. Instead of concentrating on how much Samuel despised you, you decided to take in every detail that you could.

In the center of the room, was a large, wood-carved, four-post bed adorned with a deep blue canopy with gold accents. The woven blanket that covered it was made of the same colors. Two high back chairs graced either side of the large window that overlooked all of Lawrence.

The far wall, starting from the edge of the window, was lined with book shelves and full, to overflowing, with hundreds of books.

“Like to read?” you asked casually, trying to lessen the awkwardness that was rapidly growing.

“Yes,” he said simply and quickly removed the binding from your wrist.

Sam moved to throw it into the fire, but you placed your hand over his to stop him.

“I wouldn’t. You know they’ll ask for it. It supposed to follow our lives and children, remember?”

He grunted in agreement and haphazardly tossed it onto a small trunk that lived near the bed. Samuel sighed then and limped his way towards the bed. When it gave under his weight, he sighed again, but this time with the relief of being off his feet.

“Does that give you much trouble?” you asked and nodded towards his hip.

Again, he just glared at you and nodded. “Some.”

From the moment you had entered the catacomb chapel, and promised to be his wife, Samuel had done little to show you he was on board with the arrangement, other than not object to it. He had been cold and aloof, and while you didn’t expect him to lay out a red carpet for you, you had hoped he would at least be curious enough to ask you a few questions, or maybe even, engage you in conversation.

“Is there anything you’d like to know about me? Anything that may make this all a little less uncomfortable?”

“Uncomfortable?” Sam questioned, rising again to his feet and turning to face you. “You think this is uncomfortable? This is Hell, M’Lady. What our fathers have arranged here is my Hell on Earth.” His tone was nearly conversational, even chuckling after what he had just said. A gesture that made your blood start to boil and your spine straighten.

He took a few steps closer, his shadow engulfing you. “I don’t know what you imagined this arrangement actually becoming. I, however, do not plan to take this any further than what we already have. Save the binding or burn it, I couldn’t care less.”

He turned on the heel of his boot and made his way towards the door. Without turning back around, Sam simply turned his head to leave you with one last remark.

“I’m going for a walk, do not wait up.”

With that, Lord Winchester allowed the oversized door close behind him, leaving you alone in the room, with only the crackle of the fireplace making any sound.

No sleep came for you that night. Afraid the Winchesters would have someone stab you in your slumber, you sat up in the bed until light came in through the window. Finally, allowing your eyes to close, even if it was just for a minute, and a booming knock came at the chamber door. Bolting up from sleep you sprung from the bed, pulling your nightgown closed at the neck and wrapping one arm around your chest.

“Co—come in!” you called.

When the door opened, you imagined Samuel would be on the other side. So, when it was the King’s face you saw, you tried to composure yourself and not react the way your surprise wanted you too. Before he could notice you still in your nightgown, you grabbed the robe you’d laid out on the bed, put it on and quickly cinched it around you’re your waist.

“M’lady,” the King bowed. His eyes were dark, and his face wore a Cheshire cat smile, which did a lot to enhance the dimples buried in his salt and pepper beard.

“Your Majesty,” you said and returned the gesture. “To what do I own the honor?”

He didn’t answer right away. John Winchester clasped his hands behind his back and slowly walked through the room. He eyed the bed and saw that only one side had been utilized. His dark brown eyes flicked up towards you, and for a moment you weren’t sure if he was just going to get it done and slit your throat himself. Instead, a smile appeared, spanning the width of his face, and enacting crater-like dimples to form on his cheeks.

“Check in on you of course. Seeing if your first night in your new home was comfortable. You may be my son’s wife, but that makes you my daughter now, does it not?”

“Yes, I imagine it does,” you replied demurely, trying to maintain an ounce of respect.

“I see my son is up and gone, already. I hope he was kind to you, on your wedding night.”

He watched your reaction from the corner of his eye as he walked across the length of floor and towards the window that overlooked his Kingdom.

“He was a gentleman,” you said, not wanting to give more than necessary.

“Good. That pleases me. Though we are Winchesters, warriors and peacekeepers by rite, doesn’t mean we can carry on without couth and respect. I know Samuel struggles with the arrangement. As I imagine you do, as well. I know the circumstances aren’t ideal, but I want you to know, (Y/N), your willingness to step in and take part in it shows your dedication to the cause.”

“What cause is that, Your Majesty?”

“The protection of Lawrence, of course. You do realize just what it is we do here, don’t you? How imperative it is to maintain peace in the realm, and to keep these lands away from those who would seek to control or destroy them.”

“Like, my father for instance?” you dared to suggested.

John paused and looked at you curiously. You could tell he was examining you, trying to read the root of your intentions. You internally laughed at his attempt. One doesn’t live with Crowley for as long as you have and not learn the art of maintaining an impenetrable poker face.

“That was in the past,” he said, finally moving on. “I meant the battle that rages in Purgatory. That’s the true threat. If our forces cannot hold them off. Your father’s attempt at stealing what’s ours will pale in comparison to what those monsters will do.”

He turned to full on face you now. Though he continued to move slowly towards you, the way he carried himself told you that he was holding a lot back.

“Now, what matters, is keeping this alliance between us and your kin. An heir was promised; its what cemented the deal,” he began, his voice lowering with each word. “I didn’t expect it to happen in one night, but, if within a fortnight you aren’t with child, I will have you sent back to your father’s castle. But from now on he’ll house you in the dungeons with the rest of the traitorous filth.”

His voice went deeper with the last few words, causing a nervous reverberation to rattle through your body. Your limbs began to shake, not visible enough for John to see how much he’d shaken you, but enough for YOU to know. You instantly hated him for the threat and wondered off-hand how Samuel truly felt about his father. The only way you were going to get through this all alive, was to show him you were no one to be trifled with.

Standing taller and letting your arms fall to your sides, you cleared your throat and squared off with his gaze. “Clearly, I am not the problem here, in that regard…  _Your Majesty_. I am here, in the chambers I was to share with my husband. He is the one who went for a late-night walk, not to return. So, if you want to have this conversation and try to intimidate anyone in this scenario, may I suggest you tracking him down and laying the threat of damnation upon his shoulders.”

You were able to maintain a calm tone, but internally there was an inferno of anger raging. The King seemed slightly amused at your reply and leaned back, casting his gaze down at you. Thankfully, it had softened a little and helped you to feel slightly less defensive.

“I mean no disrespect, I just don’t feel—”

“Its fine. You had every right to say that. You’re right, Samuel isn’t here, and he should be. I shall have a word with him.”

“I wish you wouldn’t. This is difficult for everyone. However, I would like to give him a day or two to adjust. Myself as well. I shall seek him out and ask for a tour of the castle and grounds. I understand your urgency for an heir, but if you want this to be successful, I ask you to give me that fortnight to make it work. Give your son time to comply. He’ll hate you less for it in the end.”

Waiting on pins and needles for John’s reply was torture enough. Finally, he nodded and cast a smile in your direction.

“You have the MacLeod knack for negotiating. Did your father ever tell you that?”

“No, sire. My father rarely speaks anything to me unless it’s a command of some kind.”

“I see. Shame on him then.”

A slight knock wrapped on the door, right before it creaked open, one of the Winchester guards came in, whispered something in the King’s ear and he nodded in response. John bowed slightly and upon standing straight, noticed for the first time you weren’t properly dressed. “I shall take my leave of you M’Lady. Be sure to get that tour. I think you’ll thoroughly enjoy the gardens. I don’t believe you have many places like those left around the cliff.”

“We do not.”

“Well, be sure to see them. We will speak again, soon.”

As the King took his leave, and the door shut behind you, you exhaled the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. The relief that washed over you was enough to bowl you over. Sitting back down on the bed, you steadied your breath and closed your eyes.

There was work to be done, that was for certain. You would not be sent back to Crowley’s, nor would you be the King’s puppet to control his son. You would, however, try and get Samuel to cooperate just a little; even if that meant using the potion you had stored away in your gown to initiate that cooperation.

Reaching between your breasts, you pulled the small crystal vile from your cleavage and held it up eye level. Narrowing your eyes at the clear liquid, you smiled wanly. “Looks like you’re going to be useful, after all.”

* * *

 

The gardens were in full bloom and bursting with color. Sam slowly strolled down the gravel path as he passed through the rows of lilies, roses and box hedges. He approached the archway that lead to the reflecting pool and eventually to the path into what the old Maesters labeled as the Elven Woods.

Sam had never ventured in there himself, but that was mostly because he had never been allowed to trifle with the magic that lived within Lawrence. Then, when he had met Jessica, she was enamored with them; asking dozens of questions and nearly begged Sam to take her there. He promised he would, as soon as the rains had passed. By then she was gone and now, it was just a place that he avoided.

Just before the arch, he found a stone bench and sat down to rest his hip. From the direction he just came, her heard footsteps shuffling along the same path of gravel. Bobby was approaching, his cloak loosely tied around his neck, his head down most likely deep in concentration.

Despite his melancholy, Sam smiled to himself at the sight of his old friend.

“Bobby!” he called, grabbing the man’s attention. “What brings you out here so early?”

At the sound of Sam’s voice, Bobby’s head snapped up in surprise. “Sam,” he started and quickly glanced around the path. “What are you doing out here? I figured you would be with your bride.”

“You thought wrong,” he shrugged and moved over on the bench offering Bobby a place to sit.

“So, what  _are_  you doin’ out here? Shouldn’t you be with her?”

“Don’t start with me, Bobby.”

“Let me guess, you’ve barely said two words to the girl since last night.”

“It was more than two… five at least.”

“Don’t sass me, boy.”

“I’m not, Bobby. I just don’t need to be with her every moment of the day,” Sam shrugged, and hoped that Bobby wouldn’t read too much into his overt aloofness.

“She should be out here with you at least. Keep up appearance. You know your daddy will expect you to treat her as your wife.”

“Yeah, well, he can’t control everything I do, now can he?”

“Samuel, you are walking a dangerous path. If you don’t do what’s expected—”

“And what is that, exactly? Produce an heir? Fine, but for God’s sake, I just met her. I need a minute to adjust and John will have to wait.” He couldn’t help the wrinkle of his nose and the distaste in his mouth that appeared when saying his father’s name. He loved the old man, but he sure as Hell didn’t like him in that moment.

“You listen here, Sam. That woman there, she’s your wife now. You agreed to his terms, and part of those terms is producing an heir. You don’t gotta like her, son, but you gotta find a way to get past your hatred of her father and make this work. Part of making it work, is you’re gonna have to spend time with her—”

“Bobby, please, just stop,” Sam pleaded, but the old man wouldn’t relent.

“I don’t know exactly what your daddy and that monster are cahootin’ over, thick as thieves they are. But, at least they ain’t fighting, and that’s just better for everyone. So, man up, be kind to her, treat her with respect, and maybe you’ll be pleasantly surprised at what you find there. Also, keep your eyes and ears open, boy. Those two are cookin’ something up, and I’d bet anything if you wanted the truth, the way to get it is to be nice to that wife of yours.”

A calculating smile rippled across the young Winchester’s face. “Why, Maester Singer, are you suggesting I use that girl to advance my own agenda?”

The corners of Bobby’s mouth turned down and he shrugged, as if to say,  _‘Who knows?’_

If Bobby knew that he already had a plan for his new wife, he probably would’ve knocked Sam out cold. But his plan wasn’t what stopped him from at least making small talk with her the night before. It was the feathers and what the Oracle had said.

Sam couldn’t shake the feeling that began to grow inside him; the one that started the moment the binding chord had joined their wrists. The feeling that gave him pause and wonder just who this woman was.

He figured keeping his distance as much as possible would have to get him through until he figured the best way to take care of her, permanently.

“I heard what Pamela said,” Bobby continued, as if reading Sam’s thoughts. “I’m not blind, either. I saw what the girl was wearing…”

Sam’s head snapped up, and before he could speak, he saw (Y/N) walking towards them. Bobby followed his line of sight and immediately turned to face her. Sam stood, using his cane for support and tried to paste a smile to his face before she reached them.

With each step she took that brought her closer, the more Sam felt the pace of his heart quicken. There was no denying her beauty, nor the regal way she carried herself down the gravel path. Rays of sulight peeking through the trees coupled with the pastel flowers that lined either side of the path, she appeared to have an ethereal glow surrounding her. She wore a deep blue gown, with a matching hooded wrap that flowed out behind her. The way the material rippled around her legs as she moved made her look even more otherworldly than before.

Samuel’s breath caught, but only for a moment. In it though, for the first time in nearly a year, the name Jessica wasn’t sitting heavily on his heart. In that moment, there was nothing but (Y/N) MacLeod.

* * *

 

You saw them, your husband and the old Maester, talking in hushed tones at the end of the path. Deciding to carry on anyway, you slowed your gate and hoped you would be able to be a few steps away before they saw you. No such luck.

Both men spotted you quickly and were at attention by the time you reached them.

“M’Lord,” you said softly and offered a small curtsy to Samuel. Then turned to Maester Singer and did the same, “Maester.”

They both bowed their heads and smiled wanly in greeting.

“What brings you out here?” Samuel asked politely.

“It’s a gorgeous afternoon. As you well know, we don’t see the sun nearly this much over near the cliffs. Thought I’d take the opportunity to enjoy it.”

Bobby not so subtly cleared his throat and cast a look over towards Samuel, who seemed to ignore it. Biting his lip, Bobby spoke up for him.

“Sam, why don’t you escort (Y/N) here through the gardens, give her the grand tour. I’m sure she would love to see the roses, and maybe up to the entrance to the Elven Woods.”

Bobby turned and glared at Samuel, who simply paused, then stared back for a moment. You noticed an expression cross Lord Winchester’s face and made sure to tuck that away for later. It was strange to say the least, and something that just piqued your curiosity.

He eventually broke the stare and turned back to you. “Yes, a tour would be a great idea. Can I interest you in a proper walk about?” he asked, unaware you could tell he was placating the Maester.

“I’d love that,” you replied and took a brief glance down at his cane. “Are you feeling up to it?”

He gripped the top of it tightly enough for his knuckles to whiten. “Perfectly fine. Shall we?” Making a sweeping gesture with his arm, you nodded at the Maester and began to walk past him.

Samuel stopped at Bobby’s side, whispered something and left the old man with a lingering, stern expression. When he finally caught up to you, he held out his elbow for you to take, and escorted you through the gardens.

You walked for a while in silence, and every so often he would point to a certain flower or herb and give you its proper name and what it would benefit. From what Samuel told you, all the flowers and herbs that were planted were done with purpose. Maester Singer and his flock tended to them daily, painstakingly weeding the gardens, pinching off the herbs when ready, and making sure they received all the proper watering when the rains and storms didn’t decimate them.

“So, what are these Elven Woods Maester was speaking of?” you asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

“A place that I do not venture to,” he said flatly, his eyes forward and intent on the path ahead.

“Why not?”

“Because, I don’t.”

“There must be a reason,” you said, but he didn’t respond, just kept his eyes forward and his shoulder’s straight. “Or not…” you mumbled.

Deciding to change tactics, you chanced another question. “Did you spend a lot of time out here as a boy?”

You saw his expression flinch, then soften. He inhaled and when he responded with more than a grunt, you were a bit taken aback.

“No, not too much. Especially not after my mother died,” his said, his tone softer, more conversational. “She loved being out here. I was young when she died, but what I can remember was she loved the gardens. Her family had tended the lands for a long time, and she was incredibly knowledgeable in spell work, herbs, potions. My dad, however, is a soldier. Always was, always will be. Once she died, he pretty much took me and my brother under his wing, said to leave the plants to the Maesters, then tried to make us soldiers, too.”

You stayed quiet, hoping he would continue. Getting him to open like this meant getting to know him. If you could get to know him, maybe your chances of staying alive would improve. But Samuel stayed quiet, not offering anymore details to the conversation.

He turned you down another lane and paused halfway towards the end. His brow furrowed, but only briefly. Assuming he had simply been taken over by a passing thought, you didn’t nudge him to go on until he was ready.

When he turned to you then, he smiled large enough that both cheeks dimpled. You found him to be incredibly handsome, but also intrigued by whatever caused this shift.

“(Y/N), see that there?” he pointed down the lane to a small path that was covered in an archway of trees. “That’s the entrance to the Elven Woods. Its where so much of Lawrence’s magic stems from. I understand you have a knack for spellwork, at least that’s what my father told me. Rowena taught you, right?”

“She did. Some of it. Some I learned by trial and error.”

Sam laughed. It rang partially false to your ears, but you considered maybe he was just nervous. “Would you care to take a stroll through the woods?”

“What about you? Didn’t you just say you don’t go in there?”

“Well, yes. I won’t be able to go, the terrain… its too rough on my hip. But I highly encourage you to pass through the arches, at least. There are fields and fields of ferns and wildflowers, mushrooms, dandelion and even Devil’s Claw just growing everywhere.

Samuel was continuing to surprise you; first by answering a question with a personal story of his mother, and now with encouraging your interest in herbs and spell work. Your hackles were raised now more than ever.

“Alright, sure, I’ll take a quick look. Promise to wait for me?” you asked, softly batting your eyes and trying to appear interested in his company.

“Of course. I’ll be right here, M’Lady,” he said, with another half faux grin.

  


Stepping over a smattering of bright pink petals from the azaleas growing through the trees, you picked up the dirt path and followed it into this special place known as the Elven woods. The deeper you progressed, the more you were enveloped by a low hanging mist.

A dozen or so more steps, and the canopy of trees broke, but only to rise up further into the sky. You could still see spots of blue with light filtering towards the lush forest floor. With the mist settled on the ground, it reflected the light giving the forest a lustrous glow that surely only lent to the area’s mystique.

In the midst of a small clearing, stood a hundred-year-old oak tree. It had dozens of limbs twisting and turning in every direction. The way the light was floating down through the leaves was mystical. Slowly taking steps towards you, you reached out and placed your hand against the bark.

Instantly, you could feel the surge of energy that spiked up through the bottoms of your feet, then coursed through your veins. It was as if it was just sitting there, laying dormant waiting for you to come along. You felt alive, inspired and injected with a sort of euphoric calmness you’d never experienced.

Later, when you were soaked through, bleeding and trying to catch your breath, your thoughts would circle back to the day and how you ended up where you were… you would blame that infusion of magic, for being distracted, unable to hear your attacker approaching from behind and getting close enough to put a blade to your throat.


	4. Chapter Four

The blade nipped at your neck, and you could feel the warm trickle of blood seeping down between your breasts. Your assailant had their arm snaked tightly across your chest, their grip uncomfortably firm which helped to keep consistent pressure of the blade to your flesh.

“Going to slice me from behind? Can’t even give me the respect to show your face, you coward!” you managed to shout, despite the danger at your throat. Expecting the blade to pierce you, you began to cackle with laughter when it didn’t. “Something wrong? Suddenly afraid to kill an innocent woman?”

“Shut up,” he hissed, his breath hot on your ear as he readjusted the steel at your throat. His voice, one that clearly belonged to your new husband, waivered for only a second.

“I knew you would try to kill me,” you growled, baring your teeth in a knowing smile. “I knew it, no witchcraft needed to see this coming. But you know, you screwed up.”

“Considering I’m the one with the blade at your throat, I beg to differ. But please, enlighten me, how did I screw up?” Sam asked, a mix of curiosity and even disappointment in his tone.

“You hesitated.”

In one fell swoop, you threw your head back, crashing your skull into his nose, causing him to drop his small, very sharp sword, and go reeling backwards. Sam stumbled back and into one of the old oak trees, his body rebounding off it and back towards you. Despite his handicap, he lunged towards the ground scooping his cane, just as you were able to grab his sword. His face was gritted it pain as he held it up, bracing it up to shield himself should you try and strike him with the small blade.

“I will not make that mistake again!” he shouted and swung at you wildly with the weighted end of the cane.

You dodged his attempt and wielded the blade towards him, simply to wound, not kill. It struck him in the hand, and he cursed. The sound of his voice echoing through the forest, setting off a flock of sparrows that had been resting above.

“As if I would let you get that close!” you exclaimed and brandished the blade at him again. He blocked it and was able to wobble the sword, making you try and catch it with your other hand and slicing yourself in the process. “This is madness! What purpose do you have to see me dead?!”

“Revenge,” Sam spat, his expression wrinkled in disgust. “Your father killed my Jessica—”

“And you think my death will cause him the same pain?!” You retracted your defensive stance and started to laugh. The reaction made Sam relax, too, as he just watched you cackle wildly, confused at the sudden turn of events.

“This is funny to you?”

“This?” you motioned between the two of you. “No. Trying to kill me barely a day after being married is not funny at all. You, thinking Crowley cares if I live or die is quite hilarious, however.”

“You’re his daughter. How would that not hurt him?” Sam roared, his body had relaxed, but his temper at not.

“Because I am a pawn, Samuel. Just as you are. I knew you’d try to kill me or have someone try. I could feel it radiating off you like a bad fever. I thought it may be for other reasons, though. Revenge on Crowley is just… pointless. If you want to hurt him, you have to go after what he loves.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re just trying to save your life.” He began to raise the cane again, but then lowered it back down. He leaned back against the tree and sighed in resignation.

You looked down at the small sword in your hand and noticed the end of its handle. It was the same pummel from Samuel’s cane, and you now realized where he’d been hiding it. Watching him as he rested against the tree, there was anguish in his features. He was far too proud to ever admit to it, yet, the time he’d been without the cane, and the scuffle between you, he had to be feeling discomfort deep in his bones.

“I assure you, husband, while I do value my life and don’t want it to end today, I am speaking the truth. My father means only to use me, to whatever ends he needs; to gain what it is he wants.”

“And what’s that?”

“Your land, of course. The magic that dwells in it. It’s always been his end game.”

Samuel gazed at you pensively, his eyes flickering down to the sword still resting in your hand. “Are you going to use that on me?” he asked.

“I don’t want to,” you said matter-of-factly then sighed. “I should though. You deserve that. However, I’d rather return it, so you have full use of the cane again. I can see you’re struggling.”

His brow furrowed, his head shaking slightly in disbelief. “You would hand that back to me minutes after I tried to slice your throat with it?”

“Why not? I surely will not let my guard down around you again. Should you make another attempt, I’m fairly certain I can defend myself,” you said, your tone laced with arrogance. “I mean no disrespect, Samuel, but I think your days of sword fighting are over.”

Stepping forward, you reached your hand out to return the blade to him. Sam took it hesitantly, then slid it back in its rightful place. It was then he noticed the blood that had trickled down your neck and soaking the neckline of your dress. His eyes flickered to your face, and you thought you saw regret reflected at you.

Off in the distance, an odd clap of thunder rumbled and sounded almost electric. Simultaneously, you both looked up and saw the blue skies of earlier were giving way to something more ominous. This was not the normally bleak gray clouds of a passing thunderstorm; these were dark purple, with flashing bolts of electric blue skipping through them.

They were like nothing you had ever seen before, and when you heard Sam curse under his breath, your focused turned from the attempt on your life, to what was coming.

“It’s a rift storm” he said, bringing his gaze back down to you. “It’s moving in fast, we need to get shelter, now.”

“A rift storm? What—”

“Later. We need to go, now!”

Absently, Sam grabbed your hand and pulled you in the opposite direction you came from. Despite the pain that had to have been plaguing his hip, he moved quickly amongst the trees and underbrush as he drug you along. A moment or two later, the thunder crackled again, just as droplets fell from the sky. They were falling quicker and quicker, and by the time you reached the small clearing, it was pouring.

Directly above, the putrid clouds expelled a bolt of electricity, frying the ground to your side. Sam yanked you hard out of the way, and you stumbled over a fallen limb. It caused a gash to appear, but you kept running despite the blood pouring from your ankle.

“There!” he shouted, pointing to the roof of some abandoned-looking hut a hundred yards away in an overgrown thicket of wildflowers and trees.

Two more rolls of thunder, and the rift flashed another bolt of brought gold electricity from the clouds to the ground, barely missing the edge of your dress. The door to the shack was stuck, making Sam throw his entire shoulder into it and sending it crashing open. Dashing inside after him, you slammed it shut behind you.

Sliding down the wooden planks to the floor, you tried to catch your breath, while pushing away the pain you felt in your ankle and at your throat. The rain that had fallen felt odd, almost as if that too, had been electrically charged.

Samuel had also taken to the floor; his face was wrought with pain while he pressed both hands to his fractured hip. Looking around you began to realize that you weren’t in a ramshackle hut, after all. You were in a very well stocked apothecary. It was old, and not too frequently used, but the tools and necessities were there.

Just passed were Sam lay on the floor, was a stone hearth. It was long cold, but the wood was there for burning. Getting to your feet, you limped towards it, grabbing a match from the table that your husband rested against. Setting the wood in place, you struck the match and stepped back as the hearth came to life, almost instantly.

“What is this place?” he asked, trying to gauge his surroundings.

“First, care to explain what the hell that was out there? I’ve seen some oddities in my years living in Crowley’s compound, but nothing like that. Ever.”

“It was a rift storm. Just past the border of these woods, is one of the portal rifts to Purgatory. The fighting there has caused them to become unstable. I suppose something finally gave… they seem to only happen when the tides turn towards one side or another. I just hope it was to my brother’s favor,” he said, the last few words trailing off into nothing.

“The bolts, they can kill you?”

He nodded. “The rain can too, if you are out in it too long. We should be alright, we didn’t get enough of it on our skin for it to burn. So, what is this place? Looks like Maester Singer’s quarters.”

“It’s an apothecary,” you said, falling into a chair near the hearth. “I imagine its owner uses its only occasionally; it certainly doesn’t look as if anyone has been here recently.”

You drew up your length of skirt to examine the wound on your ankle. The cut burned from the acid rain which had mixed the steady stream of blood and pooled a deep red pool in your shoes. Your hand slightly touched to the blood at your neck that left streaks and stains to the bodice of your dress. When your gaze went back to Samuel, you saw him watching you. It wasn’t accusatory or angry. For the first time since meeting him, you felt him look at you with empathy. 

 

* * *

 

 

 _‘You stupid, ignorant, ass,’_  Sam chastised himself, as he lay on the planks of some old witch’s hut. The air was fragrant, yet stagnant at the same time.  _‘You had a shot, and you blew it. Now, you’ll never get that close again.’_

He worked it over and over in his mind, why  _did_  he hesitate? Why hadn’t he let the blade slide across her skin the minute he placed it against her throat?

 _‘Because it’s wrong,’_  his conscience spoke up. He again admonished the voices that spoke up after it, some belittling his hesitation and some praising it. His plans were so simple, yet it quickly became complicated when it came time to execute the action. The plain fact was, he couldn’t do it.

He watched her move about the room of the abandoned hovel they’d found. The rift storm’s timing had been terrible, but at least they made it to some sort of shelter. There would have been no way they would have made it back to the castle before getting struck, or so soaked by the poisonous rain that they’d be laid up with fevers within a night’s time.

(Y/N) got a fire going, then sat in a chair beside it to examine both the wound on her neck and the one on her ankle. He could feel the rise of regret in his throat, and he hated what he had become. An angry, jealous, spiteful man who was becoming more and more like his father every day. His overwhelming need to get revenge for Jessica’s death had taken over the last year of his life, then nearly pushed him to kill in cold blood.

“Are you alright?” he asked finally, his face pensive and worried. Not so much for her condition, because she looked fair considering, but for how he had treated her since the moment they met.

“Its fine. Just flesh wounds,” she replied without looking at him, then peeled up the arm of her dress revealing the small gash made by the sword.

(Y/N) rose from her chair and limped to the table along the far wall. She gathered a few random things and began to tend to the wound on her ankle. Sam didn’t try to engage her in conversation, though now he found himself curious and wanted to ask her questions. He watched her work a spool of fabric around the cuts, both instantly turning red from the blood that remained. He watched her face, too, expecting it to respond as she felt pain or discomfort, but it didn’t. (Y/N)’s expression remained unflinching as she continued to patch herself up.

Knowing that he had to try and find a way to make things a little better, Samuel cleared his throat. “I’m—I’m sorry. I was wrong for trying to—”

“Kill me?” she interjected, finally casting her (Y/C) eyes his way. They were intense and hard, yet he didn’t see any anger in them.

“Yes. But also, for last night. You’re right. We are both pawns in our father’s games. Last night I treated you terribly, and I’m sorry. I’ve lived with nothing but a need for revenge against Crowley for so long, I lost a bit of my sanity along the way.”

“He has that affect on people,” she said. Sam perked up at the small smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth. “He’s a hateful ma—creature. Trust me. I’ve lived with him all my life and I know first hand just how cruel and unforgiving he can be. Why do you think I agreed to this lunacy?”

“Why did you?” he asked.

“To get out. To be free of Crowley for good. He had me so restricted once I became an adult, that I could barely ever leave my chambers. The moment I expressed any interest in the world beyond his compound, I became a prisoner. If that doesn’t tell you of his intentions for me, I don’t know what will.”

Sam pushed himself up as best he could and wished he could get up from the floor without looking pathetic. The inflammation in his hip was debilitating now, thanks to the scuffle earlier, then having to run through the woods. The slightest move sent shockwaves of pain down his leg and up his side, rendering him motionless. Yet, in that moment, he wished he could stand and just walk over to her and lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. He could sympathize; but what he couldn’t do, was move.

He settled for sitting up straighter against the leg of the table. “So, you agreed to this marriage simply to leave his prison for this one?”

“This isn’t a prison, Samuel.”

“Sam. Please, call me Sam.”

“Alright, Sam. This isn’t a prison at all. This place is magic. It breathes life. When I touched that tree out there… when I became distracted enough for you to get the jump on me… What I felt there was like nothing I ever had before. Can’t you feel it?”

Sam nodded. “Yes, I can. I just can’t harness it like some can.”

“Isn’t it what healed your injuries? Rowena said you died out there, but once you were brought back to Lawrence, you were given new life.”

“Something like that,” he shrugged. He wanted to be kinder towards her, but he certainly wasn’t going to divulge everything all at once. Sam briefly wondered how one did tell their wife, who was a stranger, that they were enchanted by some unknown spell their mother performed on them when they were barely six months old. Though, she had grown up with Rowena, if anyone would understand, it would be her.

(Y/N) finished tending to her wounds and focused on the objects around the room. Despite her ankle, she began moving around the space, grabbing random ingredients; some Sam could identify, other’s he could not. When she seemed satisfied with her haul, she approached him cautiously, her arms crossed over her chest and even if she was a stranger, he could still read her and (Y/N)’s expression told him she was plotting something.

“Can you stand?” she asked flatly, but not without an underlying challenge in her tone.

A flash of quick anger nearly erupted, causing his nose to snarl in a momentary lapse of judgment. Was she mocking him? Baiting him to stand and come after her again? But she just stood there, and raised a challenging brow at him, making him reform his expression.

“I don’t know,” he replied through gritted teeth. “I can try.”

She offered a hand to help him up, but he waved her off. (Y/N) took a step back and watched Sam roll to the uninjured side and work to get his knee under him, so he could use the table to propel himself upward. It took more effort than he would admit but he finally did it, grateful the table was there for a lot of support.

“Good, now lay down,” she commanded, but didn’t move to help him this time.

“Lay down? Where, exactly?”

“On the table, you daft boy. I can help you with your hip. I remember a salve that will help take away some of your pain. If you use it regularly, it can help to further repair the damage.”

Sam shook his head slightly. “No, it can’t.”

“Don’t you trust me?” she asked, a hint of teasing to her voice.

“Not as far as I could throw you. In my current condition that would be a foot if I was lucky.”

“Well, as far I as I see it, you have two choices. Stay in this painful state, and deal with the crippling affects it will have, as you eventually walk back to the castle.  _OR_ , you could take off your pants, lay on the damn table and let me salve you.”

“Take off my pants?” he chortled in disbelief. “You are crazy. I’m not taking off my pants in front of you.”

“Going to be hard to produce an heir then, isn’t it?” she quipped.

Sam looked at her in shock; his brow furrowed in a mix of amusement, confusion and uncertainty. “Wha—What did you say?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Stop being such a prude. Besides, I am simply interested in helping to relieve some of your pain. Isn’t that one of the perks of knowing magic in the first place?”

Before he could answer, a roar of thunder screamed across the skies overhead, shaking the walls of the structure. Sam gripped the table while (Y/N) held onto the small workstation beside her.

“Is that normal?” she asked, a bit of fear apparent on her face for the first time.

“Uh. Yes and no,” he shrugged. “Normal in a rift storm, but rift storms aren’t exactly normal, so…”

“Boy, I bet you’re a barrel of laughs at parties, huh?”

Sam laughed genuinely and nodded. “So I’ve been told.”

She nodded upwards. “How much longer will this last?”

“Depends. Could be a few hours, could be minutes, could be days.”

“Great. Well, I guess we have time. Come on, up on the table.”

“No, I’m not getting naked and letting you rub me with some mysterious—”

“Oh, for the love of—it’s not like I haven’t seen a man’s brains before, Samuel. Come on, off with them.” She motioned towards his pants and he couldn’t believe how brazen she was being.

“Sam,” he mumbled sheepishly.

Sam couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was too unsure of her intentions to allow himself to be so exposed and vulnerable to her. (Y/N) was not at all like he expected. She was strong and opinionated, she was vivacious and had an arrogance about her that he found alluring. For all her confidence, he felt that a lot of it was staged for his benefit and it made him was suddenly very glad that his plans to take her out had taken a turn.

That’s when the Oracle’s voice spoke up in his mind, repeating the words she’d told him the day before.

_She’s yet to show herself, but behind the feathers, the dark, iridescent feathers, lies the match to your unburnt flame._

She had said something else about this mysterious woman, too. Hadn’t she?

_The twin to your soul. The one who holds your future…_

He looked to (Y/N) who was watching him carefully. “Look, I just want to help, alright? But I can’t force you, so. I’ll make the salve for myself. Then, when you see its harmless, maybe you’ll get over yourself and accept the help.”

He didn’t know what to say. The haunting echo of the Oracle’s proclamation mixed with the conflicting bout of emotions he was feeling didn’t allow for him to say anything at all. Sam just watched this woman,  _Crowley’s daughter_ , go to work on grinding herbs, searching through oils and flowers, then mixing them all together.

The room began to come alive with the scent of a meadow just after a Spring rain. He was slowly becoming fascinated with watching her work and started to wonder if maybe he wasn’t being too harsh in turning down her help.

“Maybe…” he stumbled, letting his change of heart get caught in his throat. “Maybe, uh, I could take you up on that after all.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sam worked at positioning himself on the table and begrudgingly agreed to remove his pants; but only so far. Leaving his coat behind, he lifted the tails of his shirt and you saw the raised flesh and scaring on his hip. Though the skin had healed, it was mangled and hideous in how it pieced itself back together. You wondered if maybe his reluctance wasn’t to be receiving of your help, but to you seeing the injury up close and personal.

You hovered your hand over the area and felt a sick heat radiating from it. A pang of sympathy hit you as you realized how badly the bones had to have been shattered beneath his skin. Closing your eyes and lowering your hands to just barely touch him, you could almost feel the stabbing jolts that plagued him, yourself. You took a moment to pray that the paste you made could help him, even just a little.

Dipping your hand into the salve, you were just about lay hands on him, when another avalanche of thunder boomed overhead. It shook the walls again. You reached out to grab hold of something to steady yourself, one on the table, and one gripping Sam’s leg.

Sam partially twisted back to look at you, the pain of the action etched on his face. “Are you alright?” he asked, his hand reaching back to touch your arm. “That was the strongest one yet.”

You nodded and released a shaky breath. Once the thunder stopped echoing, the room grew quiet. The crackle of the fire and your breathing were the only sounds that your ears could detect. Swallowing nervously, you gently began to apply the cream to his hip. He didn’t react at first, but a moment or two after you applied the first pass, Sam’s body noticeably relaxed.

“Wow,” he mumbled, “huh.”

“Can you feel it already?”

“Yeah, it tingles.”

“Good, that means it’s working.”

It grew quiet again, and you were struck by how comfortable the quiet suddenly was. You thought he would be a curmudgeon about what you were doing, but he was surprisingly at ease. Applying more of the salve, you found yourself gazing at the lines of his hips, around to his abdomen. There was additional scaring there, but the place of the old wound was higher.

You reached out and touched it gently, the balm still on your fingers. Sam’s body shivered to your touch and you pulled away quickly, afraid he’d admonish you for exploring that spot. When he didn’t react, you continued the work. The longer you lay hands on his flesh, the more you began to wonder how things may have been between the two of you, if you had met by chance, instead of through this ridiculous arrangement that did nothing more than breed animosity.

It suddenly occurred that he didn’t know about your chat with His Majesty that morning. Unsure if you wanted to disturb the peace you and Sam had forged, you weighed your options and decided it was better to be upfront with him. Having him in the current position you did, then was as good a time as any

“I should tell you, your father stopped by your chambers this morning,” you said somewhat casually.

Sam huffed and shook his head. “I’m not surprised. What did he say?”

“A lot of veiled threats about holding up my end of this pact we’ve made.”

“And if you don’t? Let me guess, Hellfire reigns down.”

“Something like that,” you mused. Thinking back on the conversation with John, you remembered how angry you felt at his assumption it would be you to be the one who reneged on your cooperation.

“What else? There had to have been more. John Winchester doesn’t just threaten and run.”

“He’s given me a deadline to become pregnant,” you said, your voice cracking on the last word. You were still applying the ointment, but your movements had slowed. A quick image flashed in your head of laying with him, both your bodies tangled in the sheets, quick breaths, that desperate need to be touched… You flashed warm with embarrassment and shook the image from your head.

“I see. How much time?”

“A fortnight. He said that if I’m not with child by then, I’ll be sent back to the MacLeod’s and to the dungeon. Where I will live with the filth and traitors. He assumed if it wasn’t carrying an heir by then, it would be my fault.”

Sam sat up suddenly, causing you to draw your hands from his hip. For a man who was so wrought with pain, he turned his body quickly and swung his legs to the floor. “Did he now? Anything else?”

You hesitated but went with your instincts to divulge the entire truth of the conversation. “Yes, I told him that he needed to give me time to convince you to be all in. That, I would try and persuade you to—”

“Sleep with you?” he interjected. He snarled a smile of angry disbelief, but when he looked back up at you, his gaze soften while his brow furrowed in concern. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. I should have been there.”

“Yes, you should have. But not because I need your protection from your father, but because we both agreed to this, Sam. I see your ulterior motives differed vastly from mine,” you paused and gave him a purposeful, chastising glance, “but, now that is through, I hope, maybe we can move on to something more beneficial for both of us.”

Leaning on the table for support, Sam put weight on his feet and was able to stand tall without the use of his cane. His pensive brow eased, and he looked up at you with a bit of a twinkle in his eyes.

“Do you need your cane?” you asked.

Sam shook his head. “No, I don’t think I do. At least not yet.”

He adjusted his pants and buckled his belt before trying to take a step towards you. Sam wobbled for a moment, and when he found his footing again, he stood up even taller.

“Do you feel pain?”

He shook his head again. “No. Not even a little. Ho—How? I have the best Maester in all of Lawrence in Bobby Singer, and nothing he’s tried has relieved it like this.’

You shrugged softly. “Couldn’t say. We all work differently, I suppose.”

Sam considered it for a moment, satisfied with your response, then slowly started walking about the room. You could tell he was thinking as he made his way towards his cane, taking it up again, but merely moving it towards the chair by the fire.

“Do you mind if I just sit and let this absorb?” he said and motioned towards his hip.

“No, please do. The longer its on, the longer you should go without discomfort.”

Easing himself into the chair, Sam found your gaze again. “About what you said before, how could we spin this to be beneficial for both of us. Do we simply just go along with their plans?”

“Which are?” you asked, making your way back around the table, pausing at another crack of the erroneous thunder above. It sounded further away, which hopefully meant the store was nearly through.

“Like you said, Crowley wants our lands. There’s no way His Majesty will let that happen.”

“Crowley only told me he’s pushing for an heir as well. A child descended of both blood lines, that will inherit them eventually. A child I imagine he’s wanting to manipulate to his favor,” you sighed.

Sam gazed into the fire and leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows to his knees. “What if we were to give them that. At least, make them think it. We go along with the marriage, make it as if we’re trying to give them what they both want. If we’re smart about it, I’m sure we could figure out what they’re really up to.”

You chuckled, running a tongue over your bottom lip. “Why, Samuel, working together so deviously would require there to be a modicum of trust between us. How could that happen after this morning?”

He was quiet and pensive. Though the intense gaze of his stained-glass eyes, they never seemed to stay the same color, you felt a regret that ran as deeply as the cliffs you grew up on. Just like your instinct screamed about someone wanting to kill you, they now told you at the same volume, he wouldn’t try it again.

“I wish I could take that back,” he started, his voice cracking on the last word. “I’ve never regretted anything more in my life. Losing her…” his voice quivered at the mention of Jessica, and your heart both broke for him, and felt an intense bolt of jealousy that no one you’d known yet in this world would feel like that if it were you who had died. “It was awful. Getting revenge for her death—its just something I have to do. I was willing to take a life for it. Even give up my own life if that’s what it meant.”

He shrugged slightly and wrung his hands together, unsure of what to say.

“Sam, let go of the burden. I’m alive. It’s done with. I said it partially to tease you, though my mistrust doesn’t go without merit. But I can see you’re sorry and my instincts tell me you won’t try it again. I think you know if you do, you will lose your life in the process.”

Sam looked at you curiously and couldn’t stop the grin that expanded on his lips. 

“You really are a force to be reckoned with, aren’t you?”

Taking a few steps closer to him, you placed a hand on his shoulder and gazed down at him with a devilish grin. “You have no idea, Samuel. But I promise, you will find out.” 

 

* * *

 

 

 John paced the floors of his chambers, each pass of the room eliciting a growl of discontent. In a distant part of the city, church bells began ringing in order to call the citizens of Lawrence for evening mass. Pastor Jim would be greeting them on the steps, just before starting his sermon. Briefly, John wondered if today’s teaching would be on the Great Angel Wars, the blight that nearly wiped out a kingdom, or perhaps on the current state of the battles in Purgatory. If so, maybe he could drum up a few more able-bodied men and women to join the cause.

The ringing of the bells again shifted his focus on just how late Crowley was for their meeting. He had his guards strip the castle of the warding specifically for the ceremony so Crowley could come and go without a problem. John purposely forgot to have the guards raise them again, just to have the secret meeting with the Red King since he smoked out immediately after the ceremony. Now he was late, and John Winchester was starting to become impatient.

Grabbing his cloak, he was about to leave his chambers and head for the stables. He’d take a damn horse and ride to the cliffs if he had too. Just as he reached for the door, a slight breeze brushed passed his ear and he followed it, Crowley was standing there smug as always.

“You’re late,” John mumbled, tossing his cloak to the chair. “Care to explain why you smoked out last night? You were supposed to—”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” Crowley smiled. “I’m here now. So, talk.”

“This arrangement only works, Crowley, if I can trust you’ll hold up your end. When you don’t arrive, when you say you will, my faith in you dwindles. Fast.”

“Aw, sorry. I didn’t realize how much you missed me when I left,” he tilted his head and winked, causing John’s face to flash red with anger. “Have faith, darling. Your souls will be arriving on the front lines shortly. I made sure to send the best of the best. Dean will have all the backup he needs in merely a week’s time.”

“A week?!” John roared. “How the Hell is he supposed to fend off the army of Purgatory, with all those damn monsters gunning for his throat, with no reinforcements for a whole week!”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, your Majesty,” Crowley gave him a slight, mocking bow. “I didn’t leave them completely helpless.”

John took a few hulking steps towards the demon. “Explain!”

“You really need to do something about that blood pressure, Winchester. If you don’t, maybe Samuel runs things sooner than you think.”

“Explain what you mean by not leaving them helpless,” the King commanded, letting his frame loom over Crowley.

“A rift storm. I had my minions create a little disturbance. The fighting will cease for several days at least.”

“That will trickle to Lawrence, you fool!” John was steaming with rage. “Don’t you know the damage that can cause here? People have died!”

“Yes, I’m aware. Who do you think sent the ones that killed so many last year?” Crowley purred with satisfaction.

John closed his eyes, trying to quell the rising need to slaughter Crowley right there and then. “If one more person is harmed because of your negligence…”

“You’ll what?” Crowley asked incredulously. “Kill me? I dare you to try. But we’ve been down this road before, have we not? Last I checked we agreed it doesn’t end well for either of us. Hence the pairing of our children. Focus on that, would ya? Let me take care of Purgatory.”

John paced the room again, his hands on his hips, a scowl of distrust on his face. Every so often he would glance Crowley’s way, desperate to see the demon’s smug expression burnt off as he was sent straight back to Hell. That would do his cause no good, but it would give him a sense of personal satisfaction.

“Fine,” he growled lowly. “But the next time I call for you and want an update, you better show up. On time.”

“Why yes, of course,” Crowley grinned and bowed lowly, “ _Your Majesty.”_

John rolled his eyes and turned his back on the Red King. “You can go now.”

“Gladly. But first I’d like to know how my daughter is fairing. Still alive, I hope.”

“Yes. She is. She’ll stay that way as long as she’s with child within a fortnight.”

“Lofty goals for your boy. You’re certain he’ll fall into line?”

“He will.”

“He better. If not, well… just remember that little clause in our contract, yeah?” Crowley smirked.

Before John could say anything else, Crowley was gone, leaving only a trace of red smoke behind. John exhaled deeply and rubbed his hands over his beard then pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What the Hell did I get myself into,” he sighed, and sat heavily on the edge of his bed, now worried his choices would be the cause of Sam’s death.


End file.
